Ghosted
by JoeMerl
Summary: ["Wilde Life," set during chapter seven] Clifford visits Sylvia, three days after Oscar disappears. One-shot for Writer's Month prompt "Hurt/Comfort." Rated for cursing, because Cliff.


Clifford climbed in through the bathroom window, pausing before he proceeded into the rest of the house. The sink and bathtub were totally dry, and Oscar's toothbrush, which Clifford had experimentally moved out of its cup during his last visit, was still sitting on the counter. That didn't bode well.

Still, he called "_OZ!_" as he strolled out of the bathroom, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, trying to seem more casual than he felt. "You here, man?"

"Clifford?"

He turned as Sylvia's face emerged from the nearby wall, followed a moment later by the rest of her monochrome body. Or lack thereof. Whatever.

"Hey, Sylvia," he said, nervously looking behind him toward the rest of the house. "Oscar ever show up?"

"_No,_" she said, wringing her hands. "It's been three days now, and I haven't heard a thing."

"Shit." He looked around the hallway again, as though expecting Oscar to suddenly appear. "What is he, freaking ghosting us?"

"What?" asked the literal ghost.

"Nothing. Where the fuck _is_ he?"

"Did you ask anybody if they've seen him?"

"Yeah. Becky and her husband next door, but they don't know anything. I'm not sure who else to ask. I'm not sure if I wanna go to Eliza's about this...I could ask my mom to call his landlady…"

He trailed off. Sylvia floated down toward the floor. "He was so sick when he left. If he wandered off somewhere—"

"He wasn't _that_ sick," Clifford interrupted, ignoring the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. "Hey—can you check over my Math homework?"

"Oh...sure…"

Clifford really didn't need help with his Math anymore, but at least it distracted them both for a few minutes. All the while Clifford felt the questions repeating themselves in the back of his mind: _Where was Oscar? Why was his car still in the driveway? Should he go to the police or something?_

Part of him was seriously rebelling against _that_ idea. His mom ran to the police every time that he broke curfew, even though he always showed up by the next morning. (Well, except last time, but he'd been kidnapped so that didn't count.) Besides, Oscar was like thirty or whatever. If he wanted to run off somewhere then there was nothing he could do about it.

(Except why _would_ Oscar do that? He didn't even say where he was going or anything.)

(Clifford had tried to sniff him out in wolf form but kept losing the scent when he got closer to town.

(He'd better have a good explanation when he got back or Clifford was going to kill him.)

"Mind if I grab a snack?" Clifford asked when they were done with the perfunctory schoolwork.

"No, that's fine," Sylvia said distractedly. Then, "Have some milk. I think it's going to go bad in a day or two."

"Noted."

He ate some of Oscar's cookies and drank a glass of milk, depositing it with the other dishes that had been there for the last three days. Clifford glanced at the trash; his soda cans from yesterday and the day before were still sitting at the top of the pile.

"Could you also take my audio book back to the library?" Sylvia asked quietly. "I've already finished it and it's due tomorrow."

"Uh—yeah. Okay."

He went into the other room, taking the CD out of the stereo. Fuck, was this the all Sylvia had to do all day? Listen to some crummy story for a few hours and then just wait around for Oscar to show up? She couldn't even touch anything herself...she must be bored as shit.

"Do you want me to get you something else while I'm there?" he asked as he came back into the kitchen. "Like a movie _other_ than _Terminator 2_ for—"

He froze as he reentered the kitchen, where Sylvia was resting on the tabletop, crying into her hands.

Clifford looked like a deer in headlights. Sylvia sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry. It's just—he's never coming back, is he? He's gone back to Chicago, and I'm—I'm going to be stuck here, without anyone to—"

She started crying again, and with great effort Clifford managed to speak.

"_Shut up!_" he said, as it was the most comforting thing that he could think up off the top of his head. "He's coming back! He didn't even take his car or anything, and he wouldn't just—leave without saying anything. That'd be a total dick move!"

Sylvia stared at him, and Clifford found a bit more courage. "And besides, even if he _did_ pull that crap, I'd still visit you. Bring you new audiobooks or whatever." He finished rather lamely, his cheeks turning red.

Sylvia sniffled again, looking down at the table. "I'd like that," she whispered.

A long silence fell.

"Listen...I hate to run off like this, but I have to watch my little brother tonight. My mom and Carl have a thing."

"That's alright."

"Do you want me to...turn on the TV for you or something?"

It took a few minutes to find something that Sylvia might like, and then he stood awkwardly in the doorway. "I'll come by tomorrow. Probably a little late, so that I can get you something from the library first."

"Thank you."

"No problem. And don't worry—he'll be back. He's gotta."

His tone was much less confident than he wanted it to be. He turned quickly, jogged down the front steps and ran toward the road. Sylvia watched him from the porch with a wan smile, then looked miserable as she turned and floated back through the front door.


End file.
